


Forging the Alliance

by literary_potato



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: If You Squint - Freeform, One-sided Elder Maxson/Female Sole Survivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_potato/pseuds/literary_potato
Summary: The first story of mine set in the Fallout 4 universe, with my female sole survivor Daphne Ryan. Slight AU in that Sole does not join the Brotherhood, but still works with them, sees the Prydwen, gets involved in some of their questlines, etc. This story sets up the nature of that relationship: an alliance between the Minutemen and the BOS.





	Forging the Alliance

“Paladin?”

Danse suppressed a groan as he tore himself away from the workbench for what must have been the fourth time that afternoon to deal with the demands of his rank.

“Report,” he said, trying not to take out his annoyance on the hapless scribe. She wasn’t personally responsible for the repeated interruptions.

“Sir… Elder Maxson would like a word with you in his quarters.”

At that, Danse’s eyebrows shot up. Regarding the scribe with more attention, he straightened, and began to wipe the grease from his hands. He nodded his acknowledgment.

“I’ll head up momentarily.”

With a quick parting glance at his workbench (messier than he’d like it, but it would do at present), he headed for the main deck. He considered stopping in his own quarters to freshen up before the meeting… but with the door to his quarters so close to Maxson’s, anyone attending the meeting would inevitably spy him in his current, messy state, no matter how quickly he changed or washed his face.

On reaching the main deck, he was taken aback when he realized the murmur of dialogue he’d expected to hear was absent. It seemed this was to be a one-on-one meeting. Stranger still, he’d had no warning this meeting was coming. Knowing Maxson—and that Maxson knew _him_ and his strong preference to have the day planned out as much as possible—that could only mean the subject of the meeting was something unanticipated, something Maxson couldn’t have scheduled in advance. What new development could be important enough to merit an emergency meeting, but not demand the attendance of the proctors or other officers?

No sense in speculation. Danse knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Maxson sat deep in thought at the table. His eyes were serious; beyond that, Danse could not read his expression.

“Elder.”

Maxson stood. “I’ve received a somewhat confusing message,” he said. “Perhaps you could illuminate me.” He moved to the terminal at his desk and hit the keyboard. A holotape began to play—a familiar voice that, though tinny from the recording, lifted Danse’s spirits so instantaneously that he had to restrain the smile that fought at the corners of his mouth.

_“This is General Daphne Ryan of the Minutemen, hailing the Brotherhood of Steel. I believe we share a mutual goal, and could benefit from each other’s assistance in achieving that goal. I am ready and willing to discuss terms of cooperation. I await a response on this frequency. Message repeating.”_

Maxson cut off the recording with a button. He gave Danse a stern, questioning look. “Your assessment?”

Danse blinked several times. “I…didn’t realize she’d risen so far in the ranks of the Minutemen, sir.”

“I doubt there’s much competition. Our intelligence suggests that their leadership was effectively wiped out about 2 months ago.”

“And now?”

Maxson sighs. “A revival of the Minutemen would explain the recent flourishing of several settlements, and their unusually well-coordinated supply lines. Not to mention numerous reports of a mysterious Good Samaritan showing up to fix things… dealing with raiders, feral ghouls, and the like.”

Danse smiled a little. That sounded like the woman he’d met. One moment he had braced himself for death, only thinking of how many ghouls he might be able to bring down with him. The next moment he saw a dozen ghouls go down in a minute, each dispatched by a single clean shot to the head. And then the dust had settled, and the strange marksman revealed themself: a solitary figure with a gas mask and a dog. She had asked after his safety, the safety of his squad. She had answered his questions frankly, without hesitation. And he had embarrassed himself by coldly interrogating a woman who had thrown herself into harm’s way to save his squad without any assurance of victory or reward.

Maxson cleared his throat, bringing Danse back into the present. Maxson shot him a slightly dark look. “Something funny, Paladin?”

“That sounds like the General, sir. She seems to have a habit of swooping in to rescue people.”

“Hm.” Maxson relaxed ever so slightly. “It is as I suspected, then? This General and the vault dweller who aided you are one and the same?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was your impression of her?”

“She’s not a soldier by training. Minimal combat skills, but she has talent with a sniper rifle. She knows her way around computers and simple mechanical devices. She’s smart. Has a good eye on the battlefield. Resourceful. She appeared to be in very good health – perhaps not as conditioned as our soldiers, but the cryo-stasis protected her from malnourishment or radiation exposure."

“Cryo-stasis?” Maxson’s brow furrowed. “I don’t recall hearing about that in your report.”

Danse flushed, realizing that he hadn’t included that particular issue in the report. “Apologies, sir. Under the circumstances, that detail slipped my mind.”

“It’s a bit more than a detail.” Maxson waved it off, his annoyance quickly dissipating. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I know now. So that was the experiment they did on her vault? They kept her in cryogenic stasis?”

“Yes, sir. Vault 111. Upon entering the vault, all inhabitants were taken to pods. They were told it was for decontamination. Instead, Vault-Tec froze them for 200 years.”

“Dear God. Why did they decide to wake them after all this time?”

“They didn’t. Ryan wasn’t entirely clear on the details, but it sounded like the vault had suffered a power failure of some kind. The staff were no longer on hand – probably a mutiny early on like the ones reported in other vaults. None of the other inhabitants survived.”

Maxson shook his head in disgust.

“She awoke briefly, once, some time before she thawed. She witnessed a crew of hired men shoot her husband and kidnap her infant son from another pod.”

“The horrors inflicted by that company for the sake of _progress_ ,” Maxson spat. “I take it that’s what she’s after, then? She’s looking for her son?”

“Yes, sir. She traced him to a man called Kellogg, who’s been linked to the Institute.”

“I’m familiar with the name. It comes up quite often in the intelligence reports we’ve gathered on the Institute. Has she contacted him?”

“I don’t know, sir. She was searching for him when she came to my aid.”

Maxson nodded an acknowledgement. He resumed stroking his beard, staring hard at the map of the Commonwealth spread across the table.

“Sir, if I may speak candidly?”

“I’ve yet to hear you speak in any other way.” Maxson sounded a bit tired.

“Ryan might not have military training, but she has the makings of an outstanding soldier. And if we were connected to that supply network you said she’s developing—”

“Yes, I see the benefits to having her on our side. What concerns me are the risks.”

“Sir?”

“ _Fear those who do not pledge to the Brotherhood for though their eyes may be opened by service, they are now blind_.”

“Respectfully, sir, Ryan has already shown her loyalty in service. She saved my life and the lives of my squad.”

“Didn’t she also ignite a rocket over your head?”

Danse flushed.

Maxson spared him further commentary. “I don’t doubt her willingness to sacrifice to help others in need,” he admitted, “as she risked her life to protect your squad. My concern is her dedication to our cause… and more importantly, her motives for going up against the Institute.”

“Her motives are true, Elder. If you saw how she spoke about her son… she’s not going to stop until she gets him back. No matter the cost.”

“Our goal is not to get a single boy back, Danse. What if her son was in captivity at the Institute, and our only opportunity to destroy them once and for all was an artillery strike against the facility?” Danse fell quiet. Maxson continued. “I can’t risk sharing our most secret military plans with an outsider. Not when that outsider’s plans may be at cross-purposes with our own.”

“What if you could selectively share information?”

“What do you mean?”

“I agree that we can’t let outsiders wander freely on the Prydwen, or have unrestricted access to our plans. But that doesn’t mean you can’t coordinate together. Share information on the condition that you both understand the other _may_ withhold intelligence if sharing it would endanger their troops’ lives.”

Maxson stared at him.

“You really trust this woman, don’t you?”

“As far as I’m concerned, she’s proven herself, Elder. She saved my squad.”

“Very well. I will meet with her. Send a Scribe to the main deck. I’ll have them transmit my response.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Danse saluted him.

As he turned on his heel to leave the room, he found himself smiling, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The General would be a tremendous asset to the Brotherhood. Strangely, that strategic assessment didn’t buoy him so much as the knowledge that he would get to see her again. He was looking forward to it.

* * *

 

As much as she hated to admit it, the Prydwen was a sight to behold. Even without Danse’s borderline giddy demeanor as they’d stepped off the vertibird onto the deck (and she had to admit his joy was contagious), she would have been impressed. The Prydwen was the closest thing to modern technology she’d seen since emerging from the Vault. _Old world_ , she reminded herself. _Modern technology isn’t modern anymore. It’s old world._

She gave the usual polite greetings she did on rare trips to see Nate on the base, sensing that the soldiers of 2287 were more or less the same as the ones she’d known in 2077. Mercifully, Danse did not linger very long to speak with anyone they encountered. While the soldiers they did speak with had enough manners not to comment or ask about the Vault, she felt the eyes following her, heard the flurry of whispers when the troops thought she was past earshot. The less time she had to put up with it, the better.

They reached an unremarkable door on the main deck. Danse gave a perfunctory knock, and a voice told them to enter. She muttered thanks to Danse as he opened the door and let her pass, before turning her attention to the room before her.

It was smaller than she expected—more cramped, less elegant. The only thing marking it as an officer’s quarters was the large table in the center of the room, and the large battle-map spread across it.

A bearded man in a battlecoat rose from the terminal desk. “You must be General Ryan. I am Elder Maxson. Welcome to the Prydwen.”

Daphne found herself taken aback by the man’s voice. From his appearance, she had expected something deep and gravelly – something dark to match the heavy cast of his browbone and the gnarled scar that curled across one side of his face. But underneath it all, his voice was surprisingly light. The note of authority, the slight growl of anger, came forced and unnatural. Every word was pressed out too hard – almost as if he were shouting, even when speaking at a normal volume. She knew the voice. It was the voice of newly-barred lawyers who didn’t know how to speak from the diaphragm, who thought that being louder, more blusterous, was the key to winning a jury. Up close, she saw his eyes. Beneath the impossibly dark circles and the shadow cast by his brow, his eyes were clear and unlined. _He’s just a boy._

She smiled politely and pulled a generic answer out of the air, before her muteness made him think she was stupid. “It was no passenger flight, but I arrived in one piece, which is its own accomplishment in this world.”

“I can only imagine. Danse briefed me on your stasis in the Vault. You seem to have adjusted rather well, all things considered.”

She felt a brief pang of betrayal – irrational, and quickly smothered. _Of course Danse told Maxson. He’s a soldier. He has to report relevant information to his superior officer._ Still, she couldn’t bring herself to carry on the niceties. Not after he brought up the Vault. She knew that if she kept thinking or talking about Shaun, or the way life used to be, she would end up crying on the Elder’s couch.

“Forgive me, Elder, but I didn’t come for conversation. I’m here to negotiate an agreement regarding our fight against the Institute.”

She expected annoyance, or perhaps confusion. To her surprise Maxson smiled, his eyes sparkling a little at her abruptness. “Of course.” He gestured to a seat at the table, and pulled out the chair opposite. “What are the terms you had in mind?”

She reached into her breast pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. She felt Danse shift next to her. She didn’t have to turn to imagine the look he’d be giving her—suspicion of all things bureaucratic, mixed with trepidation at what she had cooked up. She adjusted her glasses and began to read. “I will share pertinent information that could be used to disrupt the Institute or its operations. To the extent that I can do so without disproportionately endangering lives, I will advise you of any military action I plan to take against the Institute, no less than 24 hours before such plans go into effect. I will also ensure that the Minutemen and all its settlements trade openly with the Brotherhood of Steel, provided the Brotherhood is willing and able to pay fair prices for goods conveyed along our supply lines. We are also open to the possibility direct military cooperation with the Brotherhood of Steel against the Institute, however the terms of such a cooperation will have to be negotiated on a case by case basis.

“In exchange,” she went on, “I expect the Brotherhood to share information that might be useful in striking against the Institute. I also expect a reasonable period of advance notice before the Brotherhood takes any military action against the Institute, particularly if such action might endanger the lives of Minutemen, affiliated settlers, or non-combatants.” She paused and gave Maxson a look. “Are you with me so far?”

“I am considering it. Proceed.”

She cleared her throat and continued. “The Brotherhood of Steel will, within reason, make its resources available for trade with the Minutemen and affiliated settlements. The Minutemen respect the right of the Brotherhood to restrict the export of technology or weapons that it deems too dangerous for the general public. The Minutemen may, on a case by case basis, ask the Brotherhood of Steel for military support or access to otherwise off-limits technology as needed for the betterment of Minutemen settlements or the advancement of our efforts to combat the Institute.” She folded the paper to signal that she was finished.

Maxson stroked his beard.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I suspect you have additional demands,” she prodded.

“I do.” He rested his head against his hand, one finger extended up his temple, his other hand tapping thoughtfully on the map’s surface. An idea occurred to him and he straightened, gesturing with his map hand as though he were pointing to a specific location. “I want regular reports from the Minutemen about their general activities. How much detail you include, I leave to your discretion…but I would like a clearer image of what’s happening on the ground.”

She paused to consider. “Agreed. Anything else?”

It was Maxson’s turn to pause. “I want Paladin Danse to accompany you. He will act as a liaison between our groups. As needed, I may recall him to deal with internal Brotherhood matters. But for the most part, he will assist you however you see fit. I will expect regular reports from him about what’s happening on the ground.”

Her heart lifted. She had expected something that would cost her. Having the Paladin around for military assistance was a boon. Nevertheless, the Elder seemed to think it was to his benefit for some reason. She saw no reason to dispel him of the notion. She stayed silent for a minute, letting the Elder steep and worry for a moment about whether she might refuse. Then she nodded. “That sounds logical.”

“Excellent.” The Elder leaned forward. “One last thing: I would like you to visit the Prydwen at least once every three weeks, so we can meet in person and discuss our shared objectives.”

She felt the surprised look shoot across her face before she could temper it. At least there was some consolation in knowing she was not the only one surprised: she felt Danse shuffle next to her.

Maxson caught their looks of surprise and hurried to add, “In exchange, I can ensure that you have personal access to Vertibird evac as well as food, shelter, and medical facilities, should you find yourself in dire need.”

‘That sounds reasonable. I agree to your terms.”

“Excellent.” Maxson rose, and she mirrored him. “I will have a Scribe type up our agreement properly and you can sign it when you return to the Prydwen.” He extended a hand to her. She shook it – but as she drew away, Maxson’s other hand came to rest over hers, clasping her tiny fingers between his large ones. “It will be my honor to work with you.”

“Likewise,” she said cautiously.  She broke away. “I will ask one of your men to return me to my settlement.” She nodded to the men in turn. “Elder. Paladin.”

* * *

 

Maxson waited until she had been gone for a minute before he spoke.

“When you said she was in good health because of the vault, I didn’t realize you meant that she looks utterly untouched by this godforsaken world.”

Danse reeled. He almost didn’t recognize the Elder’s voice. He had never heard him sound so… _reverent._ It was like he was quoting from the Codex itself, but the tone was mixed with something else Danse couldn’t place. Something simultaneously dazed and determined. “Sir?”

“She’s a fine woman.”

“I…” _Oh._ Danse felt his face burn scarlet. “Sir, what I reported to you was information I deemed relevant from a military and strategic perspective. Her appearance didn’t enter into it.”

Maxson chuckled. “Calm yourself, Danse. I’m not berating you for failing to mention her beauty. Still…I do have to consider strategy beyond the battlefield.” He pulled the stopper from a decanter and poured two glasses of whiskey. He gestured. “Sit. We’re off the record.”

Danse obeyed, though a pit of unease had settled into his stomach.

Maxson finished pouring the drinks and sat down on the couch. He handed one of the glasses to Danse. “I’m the last descendant of Roger Maxson,” he said wearily. “I’m still not convinced that my soul was ‘forged from eternal steel’… but I do accept my duty and my responsibility to carry on the family line. Up until now, I confess I had…struggled with the matter. There is no shortage of adequate women in the Brotherhood. But the idea of having relations with a subordinate... it left a foul taste in my mouth. What if it caused others to gossip, to suspect that her successes and promotions were due to our relationship rather than merit? I couldn’t have the rank and file undermining my wife and children like that. Or worse—what if I coerced her into my bed?”

Danse took a long, slow drink. He suddenly wished he was anywhere else – cleaning the latrines, fighting mirelurks… anything but listening to his superior officer talk about sleeping with women in the Brotherhood. Or any women.

Maxson did not seem to notice Danse’s discomfiture. “General Ryan is a woman independent of the Brotherhood’s power structures, not obligated by rank or power differential. And while some of her views may be _objectionable_ , I imagine she will come around once she has been in the Commonwealth long enough to see what synths and ghouls truly are.

“The advantages outweigh the risks. Being protected in cryo-stasis all these years, not having cumulative radiation damage or exposure during her formative years, I suspect she’s very fertile.

“And truthfully... it has a certain romance to it. The woman out of time. The pure, untarnished remnant of an era before nuclear annihilation. A living, breathing reminder of how beautiful the world could be if not for man’s hubris. To have such a woman at my side would be a powerful image.”

The tension that had been building at the base of Danse’s skull blossomed into a dull pain, and with it a lurch of nausea. He knew Maxson had to find a suitable bride. Besides being Elder, he was a _Maxson_. The last Maxson. And there was a logic to singling out Daphne: in terms of the ability to produce healthy heirs, being unharmed by years of radiation made her the ideal candidate. And yes, now that he considered it, her features were pleasing. Yet something about what Maxson was saying made him feel a bit sick…and stranger still, a bit _angry._  He tried to formulate a counter-argument, something to give voice to his discomfort. “Will the Council accept a—” The word stuck in his throat. “—partner who is not of the Brotherhood? You know what the Codex says about outsiders.”

“I do. But I also know that it says to trust in the Elders. Those who the Elder trusts are to be trusted by all the Brotherhood.” He got a distant look in his eye. “As I am the Elder myself, I may not have any superior officers to whose judgement I can defer. But I hold your opinion in high esteem. If she has earned your trust, perhaps she can earn mine.”

Danse found he didn’t have an answer to that. The pit in his stomach now warred with a lump in his throat. That Elder Maxson thought so highly of him…

Danse buried his discomfort. Maxson was a good man, and Daphne was a confident woman. If she thought there was something uncomfortable or odd about Maxson’s attention, he trusted that she could extricate herself, and that Maxson would respect that. Telling himself that did little to diminish the knot in his stomach, but it allowed him to tuck the problem away for later contemplation. He downed the rest of his drink and stood.

“Shall I report to Sanctuary Hills?”

“As soon as possible. Speak with the proctors before you go, in case they have any miscellaneous work you can do on your travels. And check in with the settlement before you leave. If they have need of any supplies, you can bring some with you. A gesture of goodwill, to set us off on the right foot.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Dismissed, Paladin.”


End file.
